Port in the Storm
by Jane Krahe
Summary: Set in early season 2, Neal and Mozzie share a bottle of wine and discuss Neal's relationship with Peter. Implied Peter/Neal


"You have daddy issues."

Neal frowned into his mostly empty glass of port. He was a few sheets to the wind already and was having a hard time focusing on Mozzie's voice. A hand entered his vision, tipping a bottle over his glass and refilling it. "What?" he finally said, squinting at the man.

Moz sighed. "You have daddy issues," he repeated, without making any more sense. They'd been discussing the great British jewel heists of the 1970's.

Neal contemplated his glass again. "This is single-quinta," he accused.

Mozzie held up a finger. "It's a single-quinta from Quinta do Noval."

Neal raised an eyebrow. "It's still a little pedestrian for your tastes."

Mozzie shook his head. "Stop derailing; we're discussing you."

"No, YOU were discussing me. I was critiquing your uncharacteristic choice of port." Neal swirled his glass, giving Mozzie a shrewd look.

Mozzie waved a hand. "I didn't buy the bottle; it was a gift. Stop changing the subject."

"The subject was jewel theft."

"...okay. Fine then. I'M changing the subject." Mozzie tipped the bottle over Neal's glass again, though he'd only taken two drinks from it.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to get me drunk." Mozzie's inability to meet his eyes confirmed it. Neal groaned. "Is there a point to this? Because if I'm going to have a headache at work tomorrow, I'd prefer there to be a good reason behind it."

Mozzie sighed. "It was the Suit's idea." He took a sip of his own glass. "He gave me the bottle and asked me to... loosen you up a little." Neal groaned again and Mozzie continued quickly, "For all his insufferable insistence on upholding the 'law' -" Mozzie made air quotes with his fingers, "the fact is that for some reason... that Suit cares about you."

Neal gave a charming grin that didn't come anywhere close to his eyes. "Everyone loves me; I'm a lovable guy."

Mozzie shook his head. "Hardly. The point is, Mr. Suit got this regrettable bottle from the lovely Mrs. Suit and asked me to help you blow off some steam."

"Why?"

Mozzie gave him a piercing look over the tops of his glasses. "You know why, Neal."

Neal swallowed thickly. One month. It had been one month since he'd been released from prison following Kate's death. *Murder*, he reminded himself. *Kate's murder*. "I'm fine," he said, sitting up a little and swirling his glass.

Mozzie waved that off. "No, you're not, how could you be? But I don't want to talk about Kate. I get her. I get why you loved her and I get why you're in pain now." He leaned forward. "I wanna talk about the Suit."

Neal frowned at him. "Why?"

"This is the last time I'll say it - you, sir, have daddy issues." He sipped his port, giving it a look of disappointment. "And I think he's exacerbating them."

Neal huffed, squinting at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"It was the same with Adler. You fixated on him with a degree of intensity that worried me, Neal, even back then."

"I was doing my job -"

"Your job was to get a password, not worship the man."

Neal's forehead creased. "I didn't..."

Mozzie refilled his glass with a bottle that was mysteriously full again. "You talked about him with that same adoring tone you used when you talked about Kate."

"What exactly are you implying?"

"Oh, I'm not implying anything; I'm saying it. You were attracted to the man."

Neal leveled his gaze on him. "I'm straight."

"And David Bowie married a woman." Mozzie sipped his port. "But we all know what happened between him and Mick."

Neal shook his head. "You're wrong."

"In all the years you've known me, how often have I been wrong? Completely, irrefutably wrong?"

Neal didn't answer, just glared moodily at his port as if it had insulted his tie. Which was hanging loose around his neck, dangling down his chest.

"I've seen the way you look at him," Mozzie began and Neal had to roll his eyes. It sounded so melodramatic. "The way you used to look at Adler. Like he held the secrets of the universe and if you could just get closer, you might learn them."

"Maybe I just have intense eyes," Neal protested. "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."

"Yeah and sometimes it's the phallic symbol of your oral fixation."

"Freud was discredited."

"Even a broken clock is right twice a day." Mozzie sat back and sipped his drink, fingers drumming on the table. "The Suit - Peter - he cares about you. A lot. Believe it or not, I think he considers himself your friend. And as much as I hate to say it - and I really, REALLY hate to say it -" Mozzie sighed as if pained, "I think you can trust him."

Mozzie's words had filled Neal with a strange sort of warmth completely separate from the port. "What are you saying?" He finished his glass. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open now.

"I'm saying... it wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing if you let him in. Just a little. You've always has a thing for men in authority, Neal. I think this... friendship... might be good for you. For both of you."

"I t-thought you said I wanted to sleep with him," Neal hiccupped.

Mozzie raised a finger, which Neal squinted at wondering why there were three of them. "I never said anything about sex. That's all on you, my friend."

"You tricked me."

"If the Freudian slip fits." Mozzie stood. "I think I've made my point. Let's get you into bed before you pass out." He slid his hands under Neal's arms and hefted him to his feet.

"M'not," Neal insisted blearily. "I don't... not..." He had just enough mental capacity left to realize that Mozzie hadn't actually been drinking, and that there'd been more than one bottle of port. He was tossed awkwardly onto the bed where he landed face first, eyes already falling closed.

Mozzie ran his hand over Neal's hair. "Goodnight, sweet prince." He headed to the door, draping his coat over his arm.

"Shakespeare? Really?" Neal managed, voice muffled by the pillow.

"If the unhealthy obsession fits!" came the reply, filtering up the stairs through the closed door.

Neal passed out then, a small smile playing on his lips.


End file.
